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Dec. 15th, 2008 12:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
miss_princeTitle: Escape
Pairing: Dahlia/Alita
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: I want moar Alita x Dahlia plz. Pretty sure there was a filled prompt on part four, but something about this pairing appeals to me :] Use the ghost!sex, make it AU, whatever.
Alita Tiala hated prison.
Not that that was an unusual sentiment for a prisoner, but still, she loathed the place with a passion. No more malls or boutiques or nice restaurants on the corner; no neat little apartment with a kitchenette and a bathtub and a good-sized closet. Only an ugly orange jumpsuit, nigh inedible prison "food," and a concrete cell with a hard bunk and a tiny window. The harsh lighting showed the weariness and joylessness in the other inmates' faces, when she saw them: chapped lips and sallow skin and dark circles beneath glassy eyes. And there was a certain aura of filth about everything, as though dirt and sweat and despair had seeped into the very walls, and it made Alita's skin crawl.
Prison reminded her of being poor again, and she hated it.
Of course, she would get out eventually, maybe ten years down the line if she kept out of trouble. But by then she would no longer be young and pretty, able to charm any cute, dumb boy she happened across into doing anything she wanted; prison would take more than ten years from her, even if that's all the time she spent there. She'd be on her own, with none of the assets that had aided her climb out of lower class misery the first time around. She'd probably end up a cashier in some godforsaken chain store and work there until she either dropped dead or finally snapped.
And on top of that, she constantly felt like she was being watched. And it was more than the fact that she had little to no privacy -- no, beyond the guards and the other inmates, it felt like someone's eyes were always on her, boring into her. It was unnerving.
It was worst at night, in the dark. The small amount of light that trickled through the dingy windows only gave depth and dimension to the shadows, made the possibility of sinister things lurking just beyond her sight seem very real. And there was someone watching her. Alita huddled beneath the coarse blanket, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, trying to find the one that held the demon that stalked her. Night after night, she lay awake until her terror exhausted her.
Until one night.
Alita could feel the difference, in a way she couldn't explain. The shadows seemed darker than usual, deeper… the air was thick with anticipation. There was an eerie silence, the sort of silence that comes after all the background noise -- air through the vents, the other inmates stirring in their sleep -- has cut off, creating a hole where one hadn't even realized there could be one. Alita sat upright, breath shallow, peering into the darkest corners -- waiting for the watcher to show itself.
And then there was a shift, a barely perceptible stirring of the air, and something was there, emerging from that dark place behind the endless shadows. Alita was frozen, eyes riveted to the figure that slowly drifted forth. A woman's figure…
She was solid, and yet not solid; real and unreal. It might have been possible to see through her, but Alita's gaze was utterly captured; she could look nowhere else. Her hair was blood-red, and she was smiling.
She sat daintily on the edge of Alita's bed and looked at her -- inspected her. Part of Alita wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go… and another part wanted to stay. Up close, the woman's features were clearer, though still maddeningly ethereal, half there and half not. She was beautiful, with long, dark lashes and delicate pink lips. Her eyes were bright and cruel, and Alita felt utterly naked beneath her gaze.
"This was my cell, once," the woman said after a long moment. Her voice was in Alita's ears but not, in her mind but not, like a woman's and yet also like dead leaves rustling in an autumn wind. Alita's heart jumped in her chest. "A wretched place, isn't it?"
Alita searched for her voice, managed only to stutter out, "W-who…?"
The woman's lips quirked up for an instant into an even more predatory smile. "Dahlia," she replied, and the name sent a shiver down Alita's spine. "Call me Dahlia." She tilted her head, studying Alita from a different angle. "You hate it here."
It wasn't a question, but Alita found herself answering anyway, dimly surprised at the conviction in her voice. "Yes."
Dahlia looked away, out into the darkness of the prison. "Of course…" she murmured, almost to herself. "This vile cage; locked into the same routines until you go mad, every hour sucking a little more of your soul away… what could anyone do but hate it?" Her eyes burned with contempt as she looked at the cell: an old, familiar hatred. Alita was grateful not to be the object of such a gaze; at the same time, she felt a sense of kinship with this woman, this… spirit, who had once been imprisoned in this very cell.
Dahlia's eyes returned to her, and there was something new in them, visceral and hungry, and Alita felt her body heat beneath the stare. The woman leaned closer, eyes shining, until her face was only inches from Alita's own. "Do you want out?"
Alita's mind stumbled over the question, flustered by Dahlia's proximity and the impossibility of her words. "What?" she asked, a breathless murmur.
"I can get you out of this hell," Dahlia replied, low and earnest. Her eyes were burning brighter than before, excitement verging on madness. "…If you'll let me."
"What do you want?" Alita asked.
The spirit leaned closer still, only a breath away. "I want out of this place, too," she murmured. The air did not stir when she spoke. "Let me ride with you; in you… and together, we will escape."
A moment's deliberation, stretching endlessly in the dark. What choice did she have? An opportunity she'd never dreamed of, the light of a passage to freedom from the darkness of her fate.
Alita nodded, and Dahlia kissed her.
Her lips were soft but demanding, solid but not quite, as though they could dissipate and vanish like smoke at any moment, and Alita opened beneath them. Skilled hands removed her clothing, guided her down to the bed, traced cold-and-hot across her stomach, her breasts. Fingers slipped between her legs, deftly stroking, teasing, sending sparks of pleasure up and down Alita's body. Dahlia's lips remained pressed to Alita's, tongue twisting and caressing and tangling with her own, even as her hands touched everywhere, all at once -- more than hands could possibly touch -- and Alita's body was singing with pleasure.
And then Dahlia was naked, too, and pressing against her, frozen and burning and wraithlike, almost not there, and yet very real. Alita wrapped her arms around her; Dahlia twined their legs together, and they moved against each other in the dark. Pleasure was building in the pit of Alita's stomach, and Dahlia swallowed each of her moans in a fevered kiss and pressed faster, harder against her. Soon, too soon, and Alita was there, facing down a storm that could not be halted, and Dahlia was pressing closer, into her, in…
Alita came, arching and gasping, eyes squeezed tightly shut, cries catching in her throat as she shuddered and bucked through her orgasm, eventually relaxing, slowly, back into the thin mattress.
When she opened her eyes, Dahlia was gone. With great effort, she pulled on her clothes, too exhausted to wonder what had just transpired. She was asleep in moments.
And Dahlia slept within her.
Pairing: Dahlia/Alita
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: I want moar Alita x Dahlia plz. Pretty sure there was a filled prompt on part four, but something about this pairing appeals to me :] Use the ghost!sex, make it AU, whatever.
Alita Tiala hated prison.
Not that that was an unusual sentiment for a prisoner, but still, she loathed the place with a passion. No more malls or boutiques or nice restaurants on the corner; no neat little apartment with a kitchenette and a bathtub and a good-sized closet. Only an ugly orange jumpsuit, nigh inedible prison "food," and a concrete cell with a hard bunk and a tiny window. The harsh lighting showed the weariness and joylessness in the other inmates' faces, when she saw them: chapped lips and sallow skin and dark circles beneath glassy eyes. And there was a certain aura of filth about everything, as though dirt and sweat and despair had seeped into the very walls, and it made Alita's skin crawl.
Prison reminded her of being poor again, and she hated it.
Of course, she would get out eventually, maybe ten years down the line if she kept out of trouble. But by then she would no longer be young and pretty, able to charm any cute, dumb boy she happened across into doing anything she wanted; prison would take more than ten years from her, even if that's all the time she spent there. She'd be on her own, with none of the assets that had aided her climb out of lower class misery the first time around. She'd probably end up a cashier in some godforsaken chain store and work there until she either dropped dead or finally snapped.
And on top of that, she constantly felt like she was being watched. And it was more than the fact that she had little to no privacy -- no, beyond the guards and the other inmates, it felt like someone's eyes were always on her, boring into her. It was unnerving.
It was worst at night, in the dark. The small amount of light that trickled through the dingy windows only gave depth and dimension to the shadows, made the possibility of sinister things lurking just beyond her sight seem very real. And there was someone watching her. Alita huddled beneath the coarse blanket, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, trying to find the one that held the demon that stalked her. Night after night, she lay awake until her terror exhausted her.
Until one night.
Alita could feel the difference, in a way she couldn't explain. The shadows seemed darker than usual, deeper… the air was thick with anticipation. There was an eerie silence, the sort of silence that comes after all the background noise -- air through the vents, the other inmates stirring in their sleep -- has cut off, creating a hole where one hadn't even realized there could be one. Alita sat upright, breath shallow, peering into the darkest corners -- waiting for the watcher to show itself.
And then there was a shift, a barely perceptible stirring of the air, and something was there, emerging from that dark place behind the endless shadows. Alita was frozen, eyes riveted to the figure that slowly drifted forth. A woman's figure…
She was solid, and yet not solid; real and unreal. It might have been possible to see through her, but Alita's gaze was utterly captured; she could look nowhere else. Her hair was blood-red, and she was smiling.
She sat daintily on the edge of Alita's bed and looked at her -- inspected her. Part of Alita wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go… and another part wanted to stay. Up close, the woman's features were clearer, though still maddeningly ethereal, half there and half not. She was beautiful, with long, dark lashes and delicate pink lips. Her eyes were bright and cruel, and Alita felt utterly naked beneath her gaze.
"This was my cell, once," the woman said after a long moment. Her voice was in Alita's ears but not, in her mind but not, like a woman's and yet also like dead leaves rustling in an autumn wind. Alita's heart jumped in her chest. "A wretched place, isn't it?"
Alita searched for her voice, managed only to stutter out, "W-who…?"
The woman's lips quirked up for an instant into an even more predatory smile. "Dahlia," she replied, and the name sent a shiver down Alita's spine. "Call me Dahlia." She tilted her head, studying Alita from a different angle. "You hate it here."
It wasn't a question, but Alita found herself answering anyway, dimly surprised at the conviction in her voice. "Yes."
Dahlia looked away, out into the darkness of the prison. "Of course…" she murmured, almost to herself. "This vile cage; locked into the same routines until you go mad, every hour sucking a little more of your soul away… what could anyone do but hate it?" Her eyes burned with contempt as she looked at the cell: an old, familiar hatred. Alita was grateful not to be the object of such a gaze; at the same time, she felt a sense of kinship with this woman, this… spirit, who had once been imprisoned in this very cell.
Dahlia's eyes returned to her, and there was something new in them, visceral and hungry, and Alita felt her body heat beneath the stare. The woman leaned closer, eyes shining, until her face was only inches from Alita's own. "Do you want out?"
Alita's mind stumbled over the question, flustered by Dahlia's proximity and the impossibility of her words. "What?" she asked, a breathless murmur.
"I can get you out of this hell," Dahlia replied, low and earnest. Her eyes were burning brighter than before, excitement verging on madness. "…If you'll let me."
"What do you want?" Alita asked.
The spirit leaned closer still, only a breath away. "I want out of this place, too," she murmured. The air did not stir when she spoke. "Let me ride with you; in you… and together, we will escape."
A moment's deliberation, stretching endlessly in the dark. What choice did she have? An opportunity she'd never dreamed of, the light of a passage to freedom from the darkness of her fate.
Alita nodded, and Dahlia kissed her.
Her lips were soft but demanding, solid but not quite, as though they could dissipate and vanish like smoke at any moment, and Alita opened beneath them. Skilled hands removed her clothing, guided her down to the bed, traced cold-and-hot across her stomach, her breasts. Fingers slipped between her legs, deftly stroking, teasing, sending sparks of pleasure up and down Alita's body. Dahlia's lips remained pressed to Alita's, tongue twisting and caressing and tangling with her own, even as her hands touched everywhere, all at once -- more than hands could possibly touch -- and Alita's body was singing with pleasure.
And then Dahlia was naked, too, and pressing against her, frozen and burning and wraithlike, almost not there, and yet very real. Alita wrapped her arms around her; Dahlia twined their legs together, and they moved against each other in the dark. Pleasure was building in the pit of Alita's stomach, and Dahlia swallowed each of her moans in a fevered kiss and pressed faster, harder against her. Soon, too soon, and Alita was there, facing down a storm that could not be halted, and Dahlia was pressing closer, into her, in…
Alita came, arching and gasping, eyes squeezed tightly shut, cries catching in her throat as she shuddered and bucked through her orgasm, eventually relaxing, slowly, back into the thin mattress.
When she opened her eyes, Dahlia was gone. With great effort, she pulled on her clothes, too exhausted to wonder what had just transpired. She was asleep in moments.
And Dahlia slept within her.
